


Come in from the Cold

by Alithea



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-29
Updated: 2010-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alithea/pseuds/Alithea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post EW. Sally and Nichol are on a stake-out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come in from the Cold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jilly-chan (slightlyjillian)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/slightlyjillian/gifts).



The mission was a bust. He felt it in his gut and the bitter taste in his mouth as he pretended to be a charming bartender for the hundredth time in what felt like as many weeks. To occupy and amuse himself Nichol had planted a champagne glass full of orange juice in front of a customer who was not. She greeted him with an extended smile that was more in her light blue eyes than across her lips.

Most of the occupants in the bar were merely that, people who were in a bar looking for something in a glass, in a song from the band, in the attentive ear of a bartender, or even a smile from one of the few female patrons. Nichol, the woman smiling at him, and the jazz quartet on stage murdering a perfectly good rendition of "For the Roses" with vigorous hits on a cowbell were all Preventor operatives.

Nichol wiped down the bar and broke away to greet a new customer and fill a few empty glasses. His one consolation on the mission had been the tips, and Sally, Sally who would smile and make everything okay without ever saying a word. She was like that, and he noticed when he had been on earth that she was like that for a number of people. He wondered if anyone ever returned the favor.

He stepped back down towards her. The bar would be closing up soon and it would be another day to log as a bust. He loathed the long stake outs. The ones where Preventors would have to slowly plant themselves in a city or section of a colony, blending in to the background to help catch the crook as it were. He had gotten himself employed at the bar months ago and Sally was already a regular. He didn't know how she could stand it.

"Need another orange juice, Sal?" He asked and started wiping out glasses. The band had since mercifully put away the cowbell and were now destroying "A Ghost of a Chance". It might not have bothered him so much if he didn't know how well those Preventors could actually play and sing.

Sally shook her head. "The lady is in good shape tonight." She muttered as she finished off the glass, tilting her head just so.

Nichol allowed his dark gaze to shoot towards the band. He had, in his time on the stakeout, tried to forget that Une had joined the detail. He wasn't sure it was right for the head of the organization to go out on missions like this. It added to the continued frustration that he would never understand her, never know her true intentions.

He nodded. "Doing anything later tonight?"

"No. I'm quite free." She turned and lingered on the lady before shaking her head. "Are you asking me out, Mr. Bartender?"

"Yes." Nichol replied before turning to glower at a customer who was waving a napkin vigorously to get his attention. As he moved to attend the gentleman he heard a soft, almost non-existent, chuckle from Sally's direction.

****

The apartment was fairly sparse and Nichol quickly moved about the small space gathering up discarded pieces of laundry and tossing them in a corner. Sally had followed him in, removing her light jacket before taking a seat in an empty chair.

Nichol looked around and finally decided to sit on his bed to face his guest. It would be an interesting conversation, if only because the one rule of a stakeout was that you never talked about being on a stakeout. You stayed in character no matter what, and because of that it tended to give all conversations double meanings. He was perfectly awful at reading between the lines at times, though he was slowly improving.

"This…this isn't a date or anything." He stated. "I just…I thought it would be nice to have some company."

Sally smiled. "If it were a date I wouldn't be here. I understand the need for company…That's why I go to the bar."

"And drink orange juice alone?" He glanced over at his small fridge and considered its contents. "Can I get you a drink? I have filtered water or beer."

"I'm fine, and drinking orange juice alone in a crowd is better than drinking orange juice alone in my apartment with the cat," was the kind reply. She looked around. "You aren't much of a decorator are you?"

"I've been meaning to pick up a plant or something. This is the longest I've stayed in one place for a long time." He confessed, and he had meant to go and pick up some knickknacks so that it looked as if he actually lived there. He thought of his apartment back on Earth and how the touches of life there only existed because his friend/girlfriend (the definitions of their relationship were firmly unsettled), Dorothy, insisted that there be. Even the manly looking posters of ancient aircrafts were her idea.

He was much neater than he was pretending to be. He always kept his room and apartment tidy which tended to make it look even emptier than it was. At some point he had tried to blame his military training for that spark of cleanliness, but he wasn't sure that he hadn't always been a little neat. He only ever deviated when it came to cutting his hair. Dorothy would rush him off to the barber as soon as he got back he just knew it. He hated missing her.

"So," Nichol began to fill the awkward silence. "You don't drink?"

"Not if I can help it," Sally replied. "I only ever toast at New Year's."

"Oh."

Her smile grew, radiating, though he was positive her lips remained still.

"Everyday is worth living and I just can't think why I should dull the sensation." Sally said softly.

He nodded. "Even in heartache?"

"Oh especially in heartache… If you have to drown your broken heart you'll never know how broken it is, and then how can you ever heal it."

"Talking from experience?"

"Is there any other way to talk?" She chuckled and then stated, "You really hate the band don't you?"

Nichol grimaced and then brushed his fingers through his hair. "I think they could be better than they are. Especially that singer, but she seems to revel in the off key."

"I think you misunderstand her. She has so much talent and for so many things, but she's been with that group for as long as I've been going to the bar." Here Sally paused and shifted her gaze briefly before continuing, "I think she's afraid of leaving them for something better."

"Oh." He tried to ignore the hidden message.

"No one is ever exactly how they seem."

"Except you." Nichol stated without thinking. He was probably wrong. He knew he was wrong, but there was something about Sally. You just wanted to believe that she was always cool, calm, and collected, that she hadn't a care in the world because she had seen so much already, and besides that, she made everyone feel better.

She smiled and stood up. "Mr. Nichol… I am exactly how I seem, except that no one really sees what that is. See you tomorrow."

She gave a mock salute with two of her fingers and grabbed her coat. She stepped out of the door and Nichol felt like a jerk for having said anything at all.

He sat in his room and thought about Sally, and the way he saw her on the mission. She would come in and sit at the bar on the stool closest to the stage. She would drink orange juice without ice and every so often she would turn in her chair to watch the band. No, not the band, the singer, the lady, but he still couldn't fathom the connection. He couldn't grasp what he knew was quite obvious, perhaps because it seemed too easy.

Letting out a deep breath he stood up and locked the door to his apartment before turning out the light and going to bed. He hoped the mission would be called off soon so he could go home. He wanted to be forced into a hair cut. He wanted to feel connected to someone, like he did when he played the silly games that he went along with when he was in Dorothy's company, and that look she would give him when he would complain about his job. The one that looked so similar, and yet was so completely different, to the look she gave him after breaking off a kiss.

End.


End file.
